


Possibilities

by alenie



Series: High School AU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Bucky's dad is a jerk, Crying, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bucky's junior year of high school and he's struggling to balance a difficult home life with his growing friendship with Steve, the transfer student from New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [nautilicious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious) for being an excellent beta!

PART ONE

They're arguing again.

Bucky sits on his bed and hugs his knees to his chest. There'd been fifteen minutes of blissful silence in which he'd dared to believe that it was over, had cautiously settled back into doing his homework--and then his dad's voice had risen sharply, and Bucky had flinched despite himself and put down his pencil.

" _Fuck_ ," he mutters. His heart's been beating overtime ever since the yelling started and his shirt's damp with nervous sweat. He knows that it'll probably be okay, that eventually they'll stop arguing and go back to acting like nothing's wrong--but there's always that tiny, worrisome chance that it _won't_ be. That his mom will say the exact wrong thing and the next sound Bucky hears will be glass breaking or the heavy thump of a fist against cheap drywall.

God, he can't keep sitting here.

He pockets his phone, pulls on a hoodie and a pair of sneakers, and slips out into the hallway. He should have a clear line to the front door, as long as they stay in the family room. Bucky's crept up and down these stairs so many times that he knows exactly where to step to avoid the creaky spots. The back door's quieter, but then he'd have to cross in front of the kitchen, and he might be seen. The front door it is.

He braces one hand on the sill by the edge of the door and tugs on the knob with the other. It sticks, and he has to work it open gently to avoid it noisily popping free.

Stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind him is a tremendous relief. It's fucking freezing out tonight and his hoodie isn't going to do shit to keep him warm, but he doesn't care. He'd put up with anything as long as he didn't have to listen to that yelling any more.

He heads to the side of the house on autopilot. The yard is dark and shadowed and his tree is a gloomy murk of branches, but Bucky's route is so familiar that he could climb it with his eyes closed, if need be. Thirty seconds and he's reached the roof, stepping off a limb and pushing his way through the overhanging branches. He's lucky that this tree grows so close to the house; he's climbed up here more times than he can remember and it feels like his own private sanctuary, a quiet place to sit when he's driven out of his room by noise and anger.

Of course, it'd be a lot nicer if it wasn't so damn cold out. He pulls his hood up and scrambles over the top of the roof and down the other side, heading for the spot where the second floor meets the first, where he'll be most sheltered from the wind.

Once he's settled, he pulls out his phone and checks it. No new texts or missed calls, but he hadn’t expected any; he doesn't have many friends these days. He hasn’t made much of an effort to find new friends, either. Seems easier to just be alone.

He shivers and scrolls through his contacts list. It doesn't take long; he's only got like fifteen and most of them are his shitty relatives. Nat, the only real friend he's ever had, the only one that didn't let Bucky push her away after Becca left, doesn't have a cell phone. And even if she did, she's living in motherfucking _Russia_ right now and the only times he ever hears from her are the emails he gets when her parents let her use the family computer.

He stops at Steve's name and stares down at his phone. He's only known Steve for a couple of weeks--he'd moved here from New York or something, transferred in late September. He's tall and broad-shouldered, but he's also endearingly clumsy and tends to trip over his own feet. He's so fucking earnest about everything, and he has ridiculous floppy blonde hair and blue eyes. He doesn’t participate a lot in class and he’s usually doodling in his notebook instead of actually taking notes. When he does talk, he's opinionated as hell and half the time he raises his hand it's to get into an argument with the teacher.

And Bucky has his phone number. Mr. Coulson, Bucky's English teacher, likes to torture them by making them do group projects, and he'd paired Bucky up with Steve, who'd written down his number on a scrap of paper and handed it over like it was no big deal. So they could coordinate getting together to work on their assignment, he'd said.

Steve just projects this general air of helpfulness that is really fucking attractive right now when Bucky is cold and anxious and desperate for someone to talk to. Bucky wishes fervently that he could send Steve a text, not even about anything important, just to _talk_ \-- but there's no way it'd be anything but weird for Bucky to text him this late at night, no matter how well they’d gotten along when they'd met up at the public library on Tuesday to plan out their poster.

He sighs and flips his phone shut and stares up into the trees.

*

School the next day is hell. He'd stayed up late trying to get all his homework done, and he still hadn't finished by the time he went to bed at two in the morning. He'd only gotten about four hours of uneasy sleep before his alarm woke him up and he feels like shit. He falls asleep in his physics class and yawns all through math and it's not until he actually walks into English and sees Steve's face that he remembers he'd promised to write up a list of potential themes to discuss in their project.

And he can't even tell Steve that he fucked up, because the bell rings like five seconds after he sits down and Mr. Coulson immediately starts taking attendance. You don't talk while Mr. Coulson is taking attendance, not unless you want to get marked tardy.

He looks over at Steve and Steve grins at him, bright and happy and totally ignorant of the fact that yet again, all Bucky's good for is disappointment.

After thirty boring minutes of lecture on the use of metaphor and simile and other literary devices that Bucky's already forgotten the names of, Mr. Coulson releases them to work in their groups until the end of class.

"Hey," Steve says, sliding into the chair next to him.

"I don't have it," Bucky says flatly. Better to just get it out there.

Steve blinks. "What?"

"The list of themes. I don't have it."

"You forgot it at home?"

"No, you moron, I didn't _forget_ it. I didn't fucking do it, okay?"

For a second, Steve looks utterly hurt. Then he looks away, and when he looks back at Bucky his face is carefully blank, like Bucky's a stranger he's forced to be polite to. He scribbles something down in his notebook, tears the sheet out and hands it over.

"That's your half of the work," Steve says coldly. "Email it to me when you're done and I'll put everything together."

Steve doesn't wait for Bucky to answer, just picks up his book and pen and angles his body away from Bucky, making it pretty clear that they're done talking. He'd probably get up and move to another seat if it wouldn't attract Mr. Coulson's attention.

Shit, Bucky's fucked up so bad. Steve's never going to talk to him again and he's going to be perfectly justified because Bucky was a complete asshole to him for no reason.

"Steve," he says quietly, trying not to let the desperation he feels bleed through into his voice. 

Steve doesn't so much as acknowledge that Bucky's speaking. 

"Steve, I'm sorry."

Steve flips a page determinedly.

" _Steve_ ," Bucky says. Too loud--Tony and Pepper are looking over, saying something to each other that Bucky can't hear.

Steve keeps ignoring him, and Bucky's hands are shaking where he has them pressed against the top of his desk. It feels like everyone's staring at him and his face is hot with shame and embarrassment, and he thinks he might throw up if he has to stay in here one second longer. He stands up so fast his chair falls over and practically runs out the door. He can hear Mr. Coulson calling his name and he's left all his stuff behind but he doesn’t give a shit.

He's pretty sure his photo teacher has a free period right now, so he heads in that direction. He's not going to spend the rest of the period hiding in the fucking bathroom, and he can't go to the library either; the asshole librarians won't let you in without a pass.

Dr. Banner's on his laptop when Bucky slips into the room.

"Bucky?" he says, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I stay here until next period?" Bucky blurts out. "Please?"

Dr. Banner looks him over. Bucky's not sure what he sees, but there must be something, because he sighs and closes his laptop.

"I _should_ send you back to class," he says. "But there's only fifteen minutes left, so I'll let you stay, as long as you tell me why you're here."

Bucky makes a face, but it's not like he's got anywhere else to go.

"Fine," he says, and grabs a chair. It's the spinny kind, and he pushes off with his toe and turns in a slow circle. "Um. Do you know who Steve Rogers is?"

"He's new, right?"

"Yeah. He's in my English class. We're partners for this project we're doing, and I was supposed to, like, make a list of themes and bring it to class today. Except I forgot, and then I was a dick--um, a jerk, sorry--to Steve. Called him a moron."

"And then what happened?"

"He didn't want to be partners anymore," Bucky says, and pushes the chair into another circle.

Dr. Banner nods thoughtfully. "Did you apologize to him?"

"Yeah. He ignored me."

"And then you left class?"

"Yeah."

"Does Mr. Coulson know where you are?"

Bucky shakes his head.

"Okay, hang on."

Dr. Banner picks his phone and dials. "Hey, Phil? I've got Bucky here. Okay by you if he stays with me until the bell?...Great, thanks."

He hangs up and looks over at Bucky. "You're all set," he says. "Just try not to make a habit out of ditching class, okay?" There's a pause, and then he adds, "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about, while you've got me here? I don't want to assume anything, but I feel like there might be something else bothering you besides what happened with Steve today."

Bucky freezes, his chair coming to an abrupt halt. "What do you mean?" he says.

Dr. Banner hold his hands up. "Hey, easy," he says. "I'm not going to judge you. Maybe I'm wrong; maybe nothing's going on. But if there is, you can tell me. And if you'd rather talk to someone else, I can help you make an appointment with one of the guidance counselors."

"There isn't anything," Bucky says quickly, mentally replaying their conversation so far. Was it something he said? Is he too upset about this thing with Steve? He feels like he's been cornered--his heart's beating fast in his chest and he wants to get up and leave but he can't move. No one's ever guessed--he can't tell. He can't.

"Okay," Dr. Banner agrees, and smoothly changes the topic to Bucky's next photo assignment, keeping him distracted until the bell rings.

"Hey, Bucky?" he says, as Bucky's on his way out the door. "Steve's probably not as mad as you think. Maybe let him cool down a little and then try talking to him again, okay?"

Bucky's not actually planning on taking Dr. Banner's advice, except that weekend shit goes down at his house again. The day starts out okay. Bucky spends most of his time in his room, working on homework. His dad's at work, so there's no one around to care if Bucky makes himself a sandwich for lunch and takes it back up to his room to eat . He gets most of his math homework done and starts in on English and even drafts out a couple of ideas for his photography class. The house is quiet, just as he likes.

Of course, then his dad comes home and starts bitching the second he gets a foot in the door. He complains about the weather, his job, his idiot co-workers. Then he starts in on Bucky's mom: why isn't dinner ready yet, he's fucking starving, doesn't she know he hates broccoli, and so on. He's got a loud, booming voice that carries perfectly up to Bucky's room. He can barely hear his mom's responses at all but he knows she'll be trying to placate him, going along with everything he says. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

When his dad's home they have to eat dinner together, like a happy family. Never mind that they're already a broken family—he hasn't seen his older sister, Becca, in about three years. She'd left while Bucky was at school one day. Shoved some clothes in a bag and driven away in the car she'd bought and paid for with money she'd earned working retail.

Bucky's not exactly sure what happened; his dad hadn't said much, just that she was "no longer interested in being a part of this family." When Bucky had frantically called her cell, she’d told him, “It’s complicated. You know how Dad is. I still love you, okay? But I can’t live there anymore.” 

His dad had been a lot better before Becca left. He’d always favored her. Everything she did was perfect and wonderful and he used to constantly compare Bucky to her, ask him why he couldn’t be more like his sister. He’d still been a dick to Bucky, still broken the occasional plate when he got upset, but it’d been manageable. Things were different now. Becca had gone from the golden child of the family to an outcast. No one in their family ever said her name or mentioned her at all--the one time Bucky tried, his dad had gotten so angry that he was too terrified to ever make the same mistake again--and without Becca, all his dad’s attention was focused on Bucky, and not in a good way.

His dad had always had a temper, but he’d gotten meaner and quicker to anger. Every couple months his anger would boil up so much that yelling at Bucky wasn’t enough anymore; he’d get physical and start shoving or pushing Bucky around. He hadn’t flat-out hit him yet, but Bucky thought it was probably only a matter of time. He’d considered leaving like Becca did, but he's only sixteen. He doesn't have anywhere to go. He doesn’t want to end up a high school dropout, or homeless. If he can stick it out a little longer, maybe he can get a scholarship to a good school and leave forever.

"Bucky!" his mom calls from downstairs. "Time for dinner!"

"Coming!" Bucky yells back.

"How was school?" his dad asks, when they're all sitting around the table so he can act out his happy family fantasy. Bucky dutifully recites a number of boring facts about his day. He knows his dad doesn’t really care.

Dinner is mostly uneventful but there’s a ball game on the TV afterward, and his dad’s team loses spectacularly. By the last inning, his dad is yelling so viciously at the TV that Bucky’s worried he might actually decide to break it. His mom gently asks him to keep his voice down so it doesn’t bother the neighbors, and of course that just makes everything worse. Bucky slips out the back door before his dad can catch sight of him and decide that he needs to be yelled at too.

He heads up to the roof on autopilot and waits to see what happens. His dad’s loud enough that Bucky can still hear him yelling. Apparently the neighbors can hear him too, because it’s only another ten minutes before Bucky hears the familiar wail of sirens. Probably the young couple who lives to the left called it in. They’ve got a baby and Bucky’s overheard them talking to his mom before, asking if they could try to keep their noise to a reasonable level. They must be getting fed up with all the shouting. 

Bucky lies flat on his stomach on the roof and peers over the edge, watching as two uniformed policeman march up to his front door. 

He keeps it together until the cops leave and then he starts shaking and can't stop, retreating to his special spot on the roof and wrapping his arms around his knees, trying to ride it out. He’s so tired of this happening. He’s tired of feeling like he’s not safe in his own home. He digs his fingernails into the wrist of his opposite hand and the sharp pain helps keep him grounded, but it’s not enough. 

He's--he's honestly kind of scared of how he feels, like he has to hold very still or he'll fly apart at the seams, come completely undone. He's fucking falling apart and he doesn't know how to stop.

He shifts, trying to pull his knees in closer to his chest, and his phone digs into his thigh. He yanks it out of his pocket with trembling fingers and scrolls through his contacts to Steve's number.

There's a loud noise in the street below and he jolts in panic, almost dropping his phone. Fuck, Steve hates him but he's still Steve, and Bucky can't be alone in his head anymore. No matter what Steve says, it'll be better than nothing. He hits the dial button.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Steve finally picks up on the fifth ring, and Bucky's so relieved he could cry.

"What," Steve says flatly.

"Please don't hang up on me," Bucky says in a rush. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, just can you please--please don't--"

"Bucky?" Steve says, sounding confused. "What's going on?"

"Can you please just talk to me," Bucky says, trying not to beg.

"Uh. Okay," Steve says slowly. "Um...are you okay? You don't sound too good."

Bucky laughs, and it comes out kind of hysterically. Shit, Steve's going to think he's totally lost it. He bites the inside of his cheek to make himself stop and tastes blood. 

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Bucky, where are you right now?" Steve asks. "I heard a car, are you outside?"

"Yeah," Bucky says.

"Where outside?" Steve presses. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

Bucky sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "I'm on the roof of my house," he admits, since Steve seems unlikely to let it drop.

There's a sudden sharp intake of breath on the line. "By yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Give me your address," Steve says. "I'm coming over."

"What? No, Steve--"

" _Give me your address_ ," Steve says again. "You're freaking me out, okay? Tell me where you are or I swear to god I will call Tony and make him hack into the school database and pull your address for me."

"Twenty-two hundred Elmhurst," Bucky says, too tired to keep arguing.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Steve says. "Hang on one sec." There's muffled noises, like Steve's covered his phone's speaker while he talks to someone else, and then the sound of a car door closing. "Okay, I'm putting you on speaker while I'm driving. Bucky? You there?"

"I thought you hated me," Bucky says, confused.

Steve sighs. "I don't hate you. You were a jerk and I was pissed at you, but I don't hate you."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I know, Buck, you said that already. Like, a lot. Look, I'm sorry too. My mom says it was really rude of me to ignore you like that, even though you were rude first. She gave me a whole lecture on it and everything."

Bucky's holding on to his phone so hard that his fingers are cramping up. Steve doesn't hate him. Steve forgives him. Steve just _apologized_ to him.

"You still there?" Steve says.

"Yeah."

"Good. Okay, I'm turning into your neighborhood. I'll be there soon. How do you get up on the roof? Is there a ladder?"

Bucky explains about the tree, and Steve makes some dumb joke about it, and it's only a few more minutes before Bucky hears the noise of a car engine turning onto his street. If he wanted, he could go to the edge of the roof and look over into the road, wave down at Steve--but he doesn't. He stays put, anchored to his little patch of roof, and listens as Steve gets out of the car and shuts his door.

"I'm almost at your house," Steve reports. Bucky can hear him breathing as he walks down the sidewalk. The next time he speaks, Bucky can hear him both on the phone and faintly, down in the yard. "Crap, is this the tree? This thing is huge! Okay, I'm gonna hang up now so I can climb."

"Okay," Bucky says, and the line goes silent in his ear. He slides his phone back into his pocket and waits. He can hear Steve climbing, a faint rustling of branches and a muttered _ow_ or two. Then there's the familiar sound of footsteps on roof tiles as Steve successfully makes it from tree to roof.

"Bucky?" 

"Over here."

Steve appears at the top of the roof and pads down the other side, moving cautiously.

"Hey," he says, and sits down next to Bucky, close enough to touch. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Bucky shrugs, staring down at his feet. He's already starting to feel better now that he's not  
alone, and he doesn't even know how to begin to explain the mess that is his life.

"You called me for a reason," Steve says. "I know you did. And you didn't sound like yourself at all, and you scared the _shit_ out of me, telling me you were up on some roof. I thought--um, I was worried that maybe--"

"Maybe what?" Bucky says, not understanding.

"That maybe you were going to jump," Steve says in a rush. "Were you?"

Bucky's so blindsided that he just gapes at Steve for a moment. "I...no," he says eventually, and Steve lets out his breath in a whoosh of air, tension visibly flowing out of him. "I wasn't gonna jump. That would be stupid as hell."

"Then what are you doing up here?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Bucky mumbles. "It's nice up here. Quiet."

"Quiet," Steve repeats thoughtfully, obviously trying to figure out why that's important. "Okay."

He's clearly waiting for an explanation. Normal people don't go sit on their roofs late at night for no reason. And Steve, well, Steve drove all the way to his house and climbed a fucking tree because he thought maybe Bucky was gonna take a header off his roof.

"'S my parents," he confesses. "They, um, they fight a lot, and it's just—I can't—"

It's only a tiny fraction of the truth, but it's the best he can do for now. He runs out of both words and air and curls his hands into fists, breathing fast, trying to calm himself down.

Steve frowns at him and grabs at his wrist. Bucky jerks back, startled.

"Shit, sorry," Steve says, moving away to give Bucky space. "I just—what happened to your wrist?"

His wrist? Confused, Bucky flips his arm over to look at it and is immediately confronted with the angry red marks where he'd dug his nails into his skin. Shit, that's definitely going to bruise.

"It's nothing," he lies, and pulls his arm into his chest so Steve can't see. It's dark out, Steve probably didn't get a good look at it.

"I don't think it's nothing," Steve says. He edges forward and slowly reaches out, resting just a couple of fingertips on the back of Bucky's hand. "Please let me see?"

Bucky's not sure what makes him give in, but he does. No one's ever been concerned about him before, not like this, and part of him wants to run away as fast as he can and never talk to Steve again, and the other part wants to cling to Steve and never let go. He settles for hiding his face in his knees so he doesn't have to see Steve's reaction and extending his arm in Steve's direction. He can hear Steve's muttered _shit_ and then he feels a careful touch tracing the marks on the soft underside of Bucky's wrist.

"Jesus, Bucky," Steve says. "What happened? Hey…you okay? You're shaking."

"Bucky?" Steve repeats. Bucky doesn't answer, just ducks his head down lower, his arm trembling in Steve's grasp. "Aw, geez, come here, okay?"

Steve drops his wrist and puts both his arms around him, pulling Bucky against his chest. Bucky stiffens up, surprised. He can't remember the last time someone hugged him.

"What's wrong?" Steve says. He pulls back a little. "Sorry, is this--should I not?"

"It's okay," Bucky manages. His own arms are hanging limp at his sides; he tentatively fits them around Steve's back. Steve's navy blue hoodie feels well-worn and soft under Bucky's hands. 

He's trying not to cry, he really is, but it's hard, and when a few tears leak out he turns and presses his face into Steve's shoulder before they can run down his cheeks.

"Shh, you're okay," Steve says. "You're okay."

Steve holds him for a long time, rubbing his back and talking quietly while Bucky pretends he's not crying and ignores the traitorous tears that are steadily dampening Steve's hoodie.

The tiny part of him that’s _not_ miserable is quietly enjoying being held. Steve’s got a couple inches on him and at least twenty pounds; his broad shoulders and big hands almost make Bucky feel small. He likes it more than he should.

Eventually he gets himself under control and pulls back, feeling embarrassed. It’s been a long time since he’s cried in front of anybody and he knows he looks awful when he cries, all blotchy and gross. He doesn’t want Steve to have to see him like this.

"Sorry," he says, wiping his face. 

Steve gives him a small smile. "It's my fault. My mom's always telling me that I'm too nosy for my own good, and now I've upset you because I couldn't mind my own business."

Bucky shrugs, aiming for flippant but landing squarely on morose. "I was already pretty upset before you got here."

Steve's mouth thins and he scoots over so their shoulders are pressed together. "I'm not gonna try to make you talk about it but if you want to, you can, okay?"

Bucky nods jerkily. They sit in silence for a few minutes, but it doesn't feel awkward. It's nice. Bucky's sat on his roof dozens of times, more than he can count, but he's never sat up here with someone else, with their weight warm and sure against his side.

"Can I ask one thing though? Sorry, I know I'm being nosy again."

"What?"

"How come you called _me_?" Steve asks. "We've only known each other for a few weeks."

"There…there isn’t really anyone else," Bucky says haltingly. "Um, I don't really have a lot of friends right now."

"Oh," Steve says, sounding stricken. "Well, you have me now."

Now that Bucky's calmed down enough that he's not actively freaking out, he starts getting cold. Panic had kept him warm, or at least kept him from noticing, but it's another chilly night, and in his hurry to get out of the house he hadn't grabbed his hoodie.

"You're shivering again," Steve notes a short while later. "I can feel it."

"Sorry."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's just 'cause I'm cold, that's all."

"I can give you my hoodie," Steve offers, already halfway to taking it off.

"No, don't. You probably need to go home, right? How are your parents okay with letting you go driving around on a school night?"

Steve curls in on himself, not making eye contact. "It's just my mom, actually," he says quietly.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's okay. Anyway, we get along really well, and she trusts me, so I just told her my friend was in trouble and here I am."

Steve seems hesitant to leave while Bucky's still on the roof, so they climb down together and Bucky walks him to his car, looking down at his feet. He feels awkward now that they're not touching anymore, the weight of what happened tonight hanging between them.

"Bucky," Steve says hesitantly, the car door half open. Bucky glances up at him, their eyes meeting, and then Steve's hugging him again, pulling him in close enough that Bucky can smell his shampoo and feel the warmth of his skin. He doesn’t want Steve to leave.

He gets a text later that night that just says: _I'm so glad you called me_.

*

He's terrified that Steve's going to bring up last night’s conversation when they see each other at school the next day, but his fears are unfounded. Steve texts him before the first bell and they meet up at the benches near the auditorium and just hang out, and Steve doesn't so much as mention seeing him outside of school. It's a relief. Bucky doesn't regret calling Steve, but there's a big difference between spilling secrets in the dark and being forced to confront them in broad daylight.

English class rolls around and when Mr. Coulson releases them to work on their group projects, he calls Bucky and Steve out into the hall. The whole class stares at them as they follow Mr. Coulson out the door, and Bucky feels a hot spark of delight shoot up his spine when Steve turns and subtly flips off the entire room.

"Rogers. Barnes," Mr. Coulson says, looking between them. "Have you two worked out your issues since our last class, or do I need to reassign you to different groups?"

"We're good," Bucky says quickly, glancing over at Steve.

"Yeah, we're fine," Steve adds.

"Glad to hear it," Mr. Coulson says dryly. "Because I wasn't going to reassign you if you said no. Now get back to work, and please don't perform any more dramatic scenes in my classroom."

Bucky blushes, and Steve mouths _sorry_ at him.

From that day on, Steve slots himself into Bucky's life like he's always belonged there. Bucky's never been befriended quite so aggressively. Now Bucky sits with Steve and his friends every day at lunch, although he’s so used to eating on his own that Steve has to keep pointedly dragging him back into the conversation to stop him from sitting there like a lump chewing on his sandwich. 

Steve's friends are all people that Bucky's seen around but never really talked to: Sam, smart, a bit on the quiet side, but witty and kind; Sam's boyfriend, Riley; Pietro and Wanda, adopted siblings; and Peter, a talkative, enthusiastic freshman. Steve introduces Bucky and everyone nods hello and Sam claps him on the shoulder and says "Hey, man."

Peter is the youngest of the group and the easiest to talk to. He feels like the younger brother Bucky never had. Surprisingly, Bucky has the most trouble befriending Sam and Riley. Bucky thinks they’re great, he really does, but something about the way they’re so openly affectionate with each other throws him off, makes him awkward when he tries to talk to them. He likes them both, he just needs to get over his PDA issues and keep fighting the urge to look away when they kiss.

*

Bucky gets a B on his next math test and his dad grounds him and takes away his phone. He spends a miserable weekend alone in his room, wondering if Steve's trying to text him. He can't even try to email him or anything; he doesn't have his own laptop and the family computer is in the living room; if his dad caught him trying to talk to his friends when he's grounded, there'd be trouble.

When Monday finally rolls around, Steve practically jumps him as soon as he gets off the bus, pulling him over to a quiet corner of the parking lot.

"Did something happen? Why haven't you been texting me back?" Steve demands, his whole body quivering with emotion.

"Nothing _happened_ ," Bucky says irritably. "I got grounded because of my math test and my dad took my phone away, that's all."

Bucky’s dad had also shoved him into the wall so hard that his back is still bruised, but he doesn’t tell Steve that. Steve would freak and turn it into a whole big thing and really it’s easier just not to tell.

Steve deflates a little. "I was worried," he says softly, reaching out to touch Bucky's arm.

Bucky sighs, already regretting snapping at Steve. He likes it that Steve cares enough to worry; he's just not used to it. "I'm okay," he says, offering Steve a smile, trying to show that he's sorry for being a dick.

Steve is frowning. "Wait a minute, didn't you get, like, an 88 on your test?"

"Yeah, but my dad thinks anything below an A is 'unacceptable'."

"That's fucked up," Steve says indignantly. "You got one of the best scores in the class! Did you tell him that?"

Bucky sighs. "Can we just not talk about it anymore? Please?" He doesn't want to waste his time with Steve talking about how shit his dad is. He could have the best grade in the class and it still wouldn't be good enough.

"Yeah, of course. Um. You sure you’re okay? I just, I really was worried about you."

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, trying his best to be patient. “C’mon, I don’t wanna be late for class.”

*

A couple months into their friendship, Steve corners him after school and tells Bucky they need to talk. It's December and they only have a few weeks left before winter break. Bucky's already worrying about how much he'll get to see Steve without the excuse of class.

"Um…okay?" Bucky says. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened," Steve says, but he looks so serious that Bucky starts worrying anyway. "Just. C'mere."

Steve takes him to an out-of-the-way stairwell and sits down on a stair. Bucky sits next to him.

"Steve, you're freaking me out," he says uneasily. "What's going on?"

"There's something I have to say and I want you to promise you won't interrupt me until I'm done."

"Okay. I promise. Just tell me what it is."

Steve takes a deep breath. "I'm bisexual," he says firmly. "And I need you to tell me if that's a problem for you, because I keep noticing how uncomfortable you are with Sam and Riley. You get all tense and weird and you can't even look at them sometimes and I just, I don't wanna hide my sexuality from you anymore, Buck. I feel like I'm lying to you. If me liking men is gonna mess up our friendship then I need to know right now."

Bucky stares at him, speechless.

"You're bisexual?" he says at last.

"Yes," Steve says impatiently. "Is that a problem?"

"What? No, Stevie, of course not. I'm not a homophobe."

Steve still hasn't dropped his defensive expression. "Then what's up with how weird you get around Sam and Riley?"

Bucky knows he's not getting out of this without giving Steve some kind of an answer. Steve can be like a dog with a bone when he gets an idea into his head.

"It's, um, I guess it's because of my dad? He's really…he doesn't approve. Like…really doesn't. He thinks it's a mental illness." He glances over at Steve. "I guess it just kind of freaks me out, seeing people be so open about it. Makes me nervous." 

Steve tilts his head at him, like a confused puppy.

"People being open about it freaks you out," he repeats slowly. "Is that because you _aren't_ open about it?"

Bucky's heart is pounding in his chest.

"You know if you _are_ queer, I'm not going to judge you, right? And I wouldn’t tell anyone either. You can trust me."

Steve sounds so fucking earnest and encouraging, Bucky has to blink quickly to keep the threat of tears at bay.

"Please don't make me say it," he whispers in the direction of his shoes. He's never said it out loud before. 

"Aw, Buck," Steve says. "I—"

They're interrupted by a teacher coming down the stairs. They scoot apart to opposite sides of the stairwell to make room so she can get by, and Bucky takes the opportunity while Steve is distracted to turn his face away and wipe at his eyes.

Steve's looking at him worriedly when Bucky faces him again. He doesn't go in for a hug, but he looks like he wants to.

"Bucky, I'm really sorry I thought you were homophobic, I shouldn't've assumed."

"'S not a big deal."

"But it _is_ ," Steve insists. "And I'm sorry. I know you have a hard time talking about things, but you can tell me anything, okay? You don’t have to keep everything to yourself."

"Okay," Bucky says. He laces his fingers together and shoves his hands between his knees to keep from doing anything stupid, like pulling Steve closer and kissing him silly. "Thanks."

*

Things are mostly normal after Bucky's big not-confession, except that Steve gets slightly more physically affectionate. Nothing overbearing, just little things like bumping his shoulder into Bucky's while they're walking in the hallway, touching him on the arm to get his attention instead of just saying his name, poking him repeatedly in the side during study hall when he's bored and being a pest. Bucky's not sure if Steve's doing it on purpose or if Steve was holding back before and this is just regular Steve behavior.

Either way, he likes it. At night he lies in bed before falling asleep and smiles into his pillow like a total dork, remembering how Steve knocked their knees together when they sat down together at lunch, or how he put his hand on Bucky's shoulder briefly when he was emphasizing something he was saying. Yeah, he's got it pretty bad for Steve. He can admit that to himself.

What he can't do is admit it to Steve.

He doesn't think there'd be much of a point to it anyway. He can't come out, not while he's living under his father's roof, and besides, the idea of actually _dating a boy_ is enough to make him feel sick from anxiety.

Steve, however, seems to have different ideas.

It's February 14th and for the most part Bucky's day has been just like any other. He got up, take a shower, ate some cereal, and caught the bus to school. Class was the usual boring monotony, with the exception of intermittent flower deliveries for those students lucky enough to have valentines. Bucky didn't get any, but he hadn't been expecting any either. There was always a tiny hope that maybe _someone_ —but no.

Steve texts him after class, which isn’t anything unusual. Sometimes Steve gives him a ride home so he doesn’t have to take the bus. Steve’s sitting on the trunk of his car when Bucky meets up with him in the parking lot, and he smiles and says hi, but he seems kind of edgy. Nervous, maybe.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks, thinking back to the last time he'd seen Steve like this.

"What? Oh, I'm fine. C'mon, let's go."

But when they get in the car, instead of sticking the key in the ignition, Steve reaches into the backseat and comes up with a tupperware container.

"Here," he says, sort of thrusting it at Bucky.

"What is it?"

"Just open it."

Bucky takes the container and looks over at Steve again. He's definitely nervous now, fidgeting with his car keys and jiggling his knee. He'd better get this over with, whatever it is.

He lifts the lid gingerly and is astounded to find what looks like a dozen chocolate cupcakes with pink and red icing. And there's something—some of the cupcakes have what looks like little flags stuck into them, and each flag has a word on it.

"Will…you…be…my…Valentine?" he reads out loud, his voice rising in confusion. "Steve, what…I don't understand."

"I'm asking you out, dummy. It's okay if you don't want to, I'll understand."

Bucky reaches out to touch one of the tiny flags. Some of them have hearts drawn on them.

"You…really? Me?"

"Really, Buck."

"But I'm not even—I've never—" He wants to explain why this would be a horrible idea, but it's hard when Steve's looking at him like that, with that half-hopeful, half-worried expression.

"I don't care," Steve says. "I really like you."

Bucky would like to say he doesn't blush, but he definitely does.

"Okay. Yeah. Yes. I'll be your Valentine."

"Oh thank God," Steve says. "You know how long it took me to bake these cupcakes?" 

They both laugh and it helps to break up some of the awkwardness between them. Bucky plucks a cupcake out of the box, the one that says _Valentine_ on it, and offers it to Steve. He's pretty sure he blushes again when their fingers brush. He picks up one without a flag for himself, peels back the wrapper and takes a bite.

"Shit, these are really good! When'd you learn to bake?"

"Uh, my mom might have helped some," Steve hedges. "Okay, maybe a lot."

After Bucky's wolfed down his cupcake, he nervously folds the wrapper up into tinier and tinier wedges. What are they going to do now? Is Steve going to try to kiss him? Does being someone's Valentine mean you have to kiss them? He wants to kiss Steve, he does, but he's scared shitless of it at the same time. What if he's bad at it? What if someone sees? What if they tell his dad? He freezes when Steve reaches over and touches his wrist.

"We're not going to do anything you don't want to," Steve says. "I don't wanna do anything you're not comfortable with."

"That's…that's probably a lot of things," Bucky says weakly.

"I know," Steve says. He lets go of Bucky's wrist and brushes their fingers together. "Where does holding hands fit in?"

Bucky swallows hard. "I think that's probably okay?" he says, and then immediately has to backtrack. "Um, wait, Stevie, I'm—I’m not ready to come out. My dad—"

"I'm not asking you to come out. I'm asking you if I can hold your hand right here, right now. No one else is gonna see."

"Okay," Bucky agrees, but he still practically jumps out of his skin when Steve interlaces their fingers together. He closes his eyes and takes a couple breaths, focuses on the pressure of Steve's hand.

"You okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Bucky says. He leans his head back against the seat. "Fuck. Sorry I'm so—" He waves his free hand around in the air. "Y'know. Jumpy and shit."

Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Bucky's hand. "It's okay."

The next day, Bucky goes to the computer lab during his free period and emails Nat to tell her the news.

 _Dear Nat_ ,

_You’ll never guess what happened! Okay, so you probably will, because let’s face it, you pretty much know everything. Anyway. Do you remember me telling you about the new kid, Steve? And how we sort of became friends? Well, he asked me out yesterday. And...I said yes? You can’t tell ANYONE I’m telling you this, got it? I know you’re a whiz at keeping secrets so I’m trusting you with this, but seriously. NO ONE._

_God, Nat, I wish you could meet him. He’s amazing. He made me cupcakes and asked me to be his Valentine. I know you don’t like sappy stuff much and you’d probably be making fun of me right now if you were here, but he’s so...I’ve never felt like this before. We haven’t even kissed yet but I like him so much it’s crazy._

_Gotta go, write me back soon and tell me how you are._

_P.S. sorry I never really came out to you before. I knew you wouldn’t hate me or anything but I was scared._

_Bucky_

PART TWO

Bucky starts packing a bag as soon as his dad leaves the house. It's been months since the last time his dad went on an out-of-town trip, and Bucky isn't going to waste one minute of it. Especially not now, now that he and Steve--

His dad disapproves of Steve. He hadn't at first, since at first glance Steve looks like an All-American footballer, like a staunchly heterosexual emblem of masculinity; but Steve's never been able to keep his mouth shut _or_ to lie to make himself look better, and after Steve revealed that no, he wasn't interested in sports, and actually he wanted to be an artist, Bucky's dad started getting this pinched look around his mouth. It only got worse when his dad decided to bring up politics and Steve turned out to be firmly liberal.

And when he found out that Steve lived with just his mom? After Steve had left, his dad had lectured him for half an hour about making friends with the "right" kind of people. Steve was a bad influence, his dad said. He wanted Bucky to stay away from him. _That Rogers boy_ , he'd called him. He'd told Bucky, like he was doing him a favor, that boys who grow up without a father turn into perverts, and that he wasn't going to risk that happening to any son of his.

Bucky hadn't bothered telling him he was too late.

His dad's dislike of Steve means that Bucky’s had to be sneaky about hanging out with him. He’d changed Steve's name in his phone to Stella (which Steve was hilariously indignant about), spent a lot of time "studying" at the "library," and just generally went behind his dad’s back as much as he could without getting caught. They couldn’t actually get away with much, since Bucky always had to be home for dinner every night by five. 

But now his dad’s finally out of town and without him around his mom doesn't give a shit what Bucky does, probably won't even notice he's gone. He and Steve have been planning for this for weeks.

He pauses in the middle of stuffing his pajamas into his duffle to text Steve the news.

_[Bucky, 7:30 am] my dad's out of town tonight_

Steve texts back right away.

_[Stella, 7:31 am] FINALLY. i'll tell mom you're coming for dinner/sleepover. She doesn't get home 'till 6, so we'll have the house to ourselves until then ;)_

Bucky's still smiling at his phone when Steve texts him again.

_[Stella, 7:34 am] um. if you want to? you don't have to._

_[Stella, 7:34 am] I hope you want to_

_[Bucky, 7:36 am] don't be an idiot, Rogers. my bag's already packed._

Bucky's jittery all day, unable to concentrate in his classes. They haven't been able to be alone together--really and truly alone, not just stolen snatches of time in an empty hallway or the parking lot after school--since the day Steve asked him out. They may be dating, but they still haven't gotten any further than holding hands. Once Steve kissed him on the cheek when he gave Bucky a ride home and it was amazing and terrifying and Bucky blushed so hard that his mom asked if he was feeling okay when he walked in the door.

Lunch is normally the favorite part of Bucky's day, but today it’s kind of a drag. He hates sitting next to Steve and acting like it's just an ordinary day. None of their friends know about them yet—Bucky knows Steve really wants to tell Sam and Riley, and Bucky's been on the verge of letting him so many times--but when it comes down to it his fear of his dad wins out every time. So he sits and eats his crappy cafeteria lunch and pokes fun at Steve and stamps down on his nerves.

He bolts to his locker as soon as the bell rings at the end of the day and grabs his stuff. Steve's waiting for him in the parking lot out back and he looks worried, but he doesn't say anything as they stuff their backpacks into the back seat and get in the car. 

"Is something wrong?" Steve finally asks, after he’s turned out of the parking lot and is navigating through the neighborhood.

 _I'm fine_ , Bucky wants to say, but there's no point in lying to Steve when he clearly already knows that something’s up. He shrugs instead.

"If you've changed your mind--"

" _No_ ," Bucky interrupts. "Jesus, why would you even _think_ that?"

"You barely looked at me all day," Steve points out. "I didn't know what to think."

"I've just nervous," Bucky mumbles, looking down. "I've never done anything before. Uh. You know."

"I know," Steve says, sounding confused. "I told you before and I'll tell you again, I'm not gonna push you to do anything you don't want to, Buck."

Bucky sighs, frustrated. "That's not it. I just. I just really want to, okay? I want to kiss you, I do. I'm just nervous about it." It's been driving him crazy all day, looking at Steve and thinking about tonight, about touching Steve for the first time. About Steve touching _him_ for the first time.

"Oh," Steve says quietly. He's blushing when Bucky looks at him. "That's--okay then."

Steve doesn't live far from school, but it feels like it takes forever to get to his house. Bucky dumps his bags on the floor and takes off his shoes and then they're just standing there in the foyer, staring at each other.

"You wanna go upstairs?" Steve asks. 

Bucky nods and says yes at the same time, nearly trips over his own feet going up the stairs, and almost forgets to breathe when Steve's hand brushes up against his. He sits on Steve's bed like he usually does, but everything's different now. It _feels_ different. Even the air seems expectant. Steve sits next to him, like _he_ usually does, only much, much closer.

"Hi," Steve says. His eyes are very blue. "If it's okay, I'm going to kiss you now."

It's more than okay. Bucky squeaks out a yes, his voice embarrassingly high.

The first press of Steve's mouth is soft and sweet, and he braces himself with a hand on Bucky's thigh when he leans in closer. Bucky kisses him back carefully. He hopes he's not doing it wrong. After a few minutes of gentle kisses, Steve gets more aggressive, cupping Bucky's face with his free hand and sucking on Bucky's bottom lip, the sharp press of his teeth just barely discernible. Everything feels so good and Bucky tries to get closer, pushing himself into Steve's hands and shivering when Steve's fingers slide a little higher up on his leg.

The angle is awkward and if Bucky's brain was operating at full capacity right now, he'd be amazed at his boldness, but as is he squirms backward into Steve's pillows without a second thought, pulling Steve down with him. Steve is warm and perfect on top of him. Bucky likes that Steve’s bigger than he is, a solid weight pressing him back into the sheets. Bucky slides his hands up under Steve's shirt and that makes Steve moan against his mouth and push his hips down into Bucky's.

And Steve's _hard_. Steve's hard _because of Bucky_.

God, that's hot.

Steve seems to realize what he did and pulls back a little, face flushed, lips red. "Bucky, is this--"

" _Yes_ ," Bucky says, and cranes his neck up for more kisses. He’d thought he’d be too scared to go this far with Steve, but here in Steve’s room, in Steve’s bed--he’s not scared at all. Steve smells good and he feels good and Bucky just wants more.

Steve mumbles something that sounds like Bucky’s name, and after that everything turns into a blur of kissing and groping and moving against each other. Steve settles in between Bucky's legs and they've both got their hands under each others' shirts, warm smooth skin under Bucky's fingers.

Bucky's hard too, and every time Steve grinds down against him, his thigh rubs up against Bucky’s dick. It's almost overwhelmingly good. He can't talk, he can barely even kiss Steve anymore, he's mostly just hanging on to Steve while they push up against each other.

"Bucky," Steve says, barely coherent, and ducks his head down to mouth at Bucky's neck, sucking and licking at his skin. Bucky feels hot all over, his skin tight, and the feeling builds and builds until he's shuddering, hands tightening on Steve's shoulders as he arches his back and comes in his pants.

When he blinks his eyes open again, Steve's right there next to him, looking supremely pleased with himself.

"Jesus," Bucky says shakily. "That was—" Steve's still hard, he notices. Bucky can see his dick pushing up against his jeans. The bulge looks big. It's kind of intimidating. "Um. Do you want me to--" He reaches out and rests his fingertips just above Steve's waistband.

"If you want," Steve says, biting at his lip. "You don't have to."

"How could I _not_ ," Bucky says, half to himself, and gets busy undoing Steve's fly and shoving his jeans down his hips. It's a little nerve-wracking, slipping his hand into Steve's boxers and knowing he's about to touch someone else's dick for the first time, but the way Steve looking at him makes everything better.

Bucky's never touched someone else's dick before. After he gets over the initial panic that he's really doing this, this is Steve's dick hot and heavy in his hand, he's curious. He tugs at Steve's boxers with one hand and Steve helps him get them out of the way. Steve's dick kind of flops free, smacking against his stomach and then standing to attention. Compared to the dicks Bucky's seen in the gym locker room, Steve's is definitely big. Bucky’s pretty sure he’d choke on it if he ever tried to put it in his mouth.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, interrupting Bucky's dick-sucking fantasies. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky says sheepishly. "You have a really big dick, Stevie."

To his fascination, that makes Steve blush.

"Sorry?" Steve says.

"Oh no," Bucky reassures him absentmindedly, still staring at Steve's crotch. "It's pretty, I like it."

"Oh my _god_ ," Steve says, laughing. "Uh, thanks, Buck."

"Um, I don't really know how to do this," Bucky says, wrapping his hand around Steve's dick. "I mean, obviously I know how to jerk off, but uh, tell me if I'm doing something you don't like?"

"Don't worry about it," Steve says breathily. Bucky looks up at him. Steve's biting at his lip. "I'm gonna like it no matter what you do, I promise."

It's only after, when they've cleaned up and gotten back into bed, that it hits Bucky that this is it: he's truly, officially gay now. He's done _gay things_ and he can't take them back and if his dad finds out he'll be so, so screwed.

"Bucky?" Steve says tentatively. "Um, are you okay?"

"I'm _gay_ ," Bucky says, and bursts into tears.

Steve handles his meltdown remarkably well, letting Bucky cling to him and mess up the front of his t-shirt with tears and snot. He doesn't jump right into trying to make him explain what's wrong, thank god, just holds him and rubs his back. Bucky's not capable of words just yet.

"This is about your dad, isn't it," Steve says eventually, when Bucky's calmed down enough that he's sniffling instead of sobbing. There's an edge to his voice that Bucky's never heard before.

"I just--if he finds out about us--"

"He's _not_ going to find out," Steve says firmly. "No one else knows about us, Buck."

And that's true, and it hurts. "'M sorry," Bucky says, thankful that they're lying close enough together that they can't look each other in the eye.

"What for?"

"Making you hide with me." Steve deserves to have a real boyfriend, someone he can hold hands with at lunch and invite to dinner with his mom and go on dates with, and instead he's stuck with Bucky, who's too afraid to even think about coming out.

Steve sighs. "You're not _making_ me do anything," he says, carding his fingers through Bucky's sweat-damp hair. "I'm here because this is exactly where I want to be. And it's hardly your fault that your dad's a homophobic dickhead who'd make your life even more miserable if he knew. Self-preservation isn't anything to be ashamed of."

"I hate it when you're logical," Bucky grumbles, and wipes at his eyes. His nose is still running and he sniffs noisily. "Fuck, I need a tissue."

"Coming right up," Steve says. He turns away from Bucky to rummage around in his nightstand, and when he turns back he's got a box of tissues in his hand.

Bucky sits up to blow his nose and wipe his face, and when he's done he leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes and tries not to feel like such a fucking loser for freaking out and crying all over Steve.

"Hey," Steve says, bedsprings creaking as he sits up. His fingers are gentle when he touches Bucky's arm. "Don't get broody on me."

That startles a choked laugh out of Bucky. "Shit, I'm ruining our evening, aren't I?" he says ruefully.

"Nah," Steve says, trailing his fingers idly up and down Bucky's arm. "But if you want to improve things, I have a few suggestions."

"Like what?"

"Honestly? I really wanna just cuddle you for a while."

Bucky blinks, surprised. "Okay," he says slowly. "Um, how--"

Steve takes charge of logistics and directs Bucky back under the covers, prods at him until he has him where he wants him and then spoons up right against his back.

It feels so fucking good that Bucky almost starts crying all over again. He feels safe in a way he never has before. Steve has both arms around him and his knees tucked up against Bucky's knees and his legs entwined with Bucky's legs and holy fuck, how did Bucky live this long without spooning? This is--it feels like something he's been missing his whole life, only he didn't even realize it until just now.

He swallows hard and wraps his arms over Steve's.

"Comfortable?" Steve asks, his breath tickling Bucky's neck.

"Feels really good," Bucky admits. "You're warm."

Steve kisses his neck, just a quick press of lips to skin. Then he reclaims one of his arms, tugging it out of Bucky's hold, and Bucky looks back over his shoulder to see Steve fiddling with his phone.

"I'm setting an alarm," Steve explains. "In case we fall asleep."

"Oh." He waits for Steve to set his phone down and put his arm back around him again. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe--maybe we could tell your mom about us?"

Steve's breath whooshes out of him like Bucky punched him in the stomach. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," Bucky makes himself say, even though the thought of telling _anyone_ is terrifying. It's not so much that's he's scared his dad would beat the shit out of him (definitely a possibility) as he is of his dad preventing him from ever seeing Steve again. Forcing him to switch schools, or hell, packing them up and moving somewhere else. His dad's military, and Bucky knows it wouldn't be hard for him to request a transfer, even though he'd promised they'd stay here for at least a couple years, long enough for Bucky to finish high school.

Steve is the only good thing Bucky has going for him, and losing him is unthinkable.

"She wouldn't tell anyone, right? She'd keep it secret?"

"Of course she would," Steve says, his thumb rubbing circles on Bucky's arm. "She knows what your dad's like, what he thinks about me. She'd understand."

Bucky's embarrassed to realize he's trembling, not a lot but enough that Steve's probably noticed, and he forces himself to take a deep breath and try to stop being so goddamn tense.

"Hey, c'mere," Steve says. He tugs on Bucky's shoulder until Bucky gives in and rolls over to face him, and then he's leaning in slow enough that Bucky could stop him if he wanted to. When Steve kisses him, it's a much different kind of kiss than before. That kiss had intent behind it; this one is just...comforting.

"We don't have to rush into anything, okay?" Steve says. "Whenever you're ready."

"Tonight," Bucky says, determined. "I want you to tell her at dinner tonight." A sudden thought occurs to him. "Will she be mad about us being up in your room together?"

"Nah, she'll probably buy us some condoms and give us a lesson on safe sex."

"Oh my god, that might be _worse_ ," Bucky moans. "Will she really?"

"Yep, sorry," Steve says, although he doesn't actually sound sorry at all. "But on the plus side: free condoms."

They take a moment to consider the implications of free condoms, and have considerable trouble looking each other in the eye.

"Fuck, I need a nap to prepare myself for this," Bucky says, and flops over onto his side, hoping Steve will spoon him again. Steve does, and Bucky relaxes back against him. Steve's sheets feel nice and crisp against his skin, almost like—

"Steven Grant Rogers, did you put fresh sheets on your bed after I texted you this morning?"

*

Steve wakes them up shortly before his mom is due to get home and they head downstairs to hang out. No need to make it _completely_ obvious that they were fooling around in Steve’s room. Bucky spies a picture on the mantle that he’s never noticed before and frowns at is. 

“Is this your cousin or something?”

Steve walks over to see what Bucky’s looking at and laughs. “Uh, no. That’s me from about a year ago.”

“What?” Bucky says, incredulous. “But you’re tiny!” The Steve in the picture looks so small. Short, definitely much shorter than Bucky, with wrists you could probably fit your whole hand around. He’s wearing all black and glaring at the camera like someone tricked him into getting his picture taken.

“I know, right? I had a late growth spurt, shot up like a foot in six months. It was kind of awful, actually; I had growing pains all the time and everything ached and I kept hitting my head on stuff because I always misjudged how tall I was. It was right before we moved here.”

“Shit, I wish I could have known you then, tiny you is freaking adorable.”

“What, and I’m not adorable now?” Steve says, mock offended. “Besides, you probably wouldn’t’ve liked me very much. I had a real pissy attitude back then, got in a lot of fights. It was one the reasons we moved here. So I could start over. I probably would’ve gotten expelled if we hadn’t left.”

“Fuck, really?” Steve’s not exactly a model student now, but he doesn’t go around _fighting_ people. 

“Yeah. I had some issues. My mom made me go to therapy for a while.” Steve makes a face. “Sorry if that’s weird.”

Bucky doesn’t give a shit about the therapy, he’s stuck on the fighting. Thinking about Steve hurting people scares him.

“Why were you getting in fights?” 

Steve shrugs. “Felt like I always had to stick up for people who couldn’t stick up for themselves, I guess. I can’t stand bullies. Of course, I was skinny as hell and about as strong as an overcooked noodle, so mostly I just got my face ground into the pavement.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. That makes sense. Steve’s still Steve. Everything’s okay. Relieved, he reaches out and slips his hand into Steve’s. Steve’s face immediately brightens.

At dinner, Steve holds his hand under the table while he tells his mom that they're dating. Steve's mom is just as accepting as Steve said she would be, but Bucky's terrified regardless. She tells them that she's so happy for them and Bucky manages to eke out a "thank you" while Steve squeezes his hand in encouragement.

Turns out Steve was also right about the safe sex talk. Bucky stares down at the table, face hot, while Steve assures his mom that they're being safe, and that they'll ask her if they have any questions.

"Geez mom, we will, okay?" Steve says. "Please stop interrogating us, you're gonna freak out Bucky and then he won't want to come over anymore."

"That _would_ be a shame," Sarah agrees with a smile. "I hope you know you're welcome here anytime, Bucky."

"Mom," Steve interrupts. "You can't tell anyone about me and Bucky. It's not safe for him to come out. Promise me."

"Of course, honey. I promise."

There's no more serious discussion during dinner, but after, when Bucky finds himself alone in the kitchen with Sarah for a moment, Steve briefly off doing something upstairs, she stops him rinsing food off the dishes with a hand on his shoulder.

"Bucky, sweetie," she begins. "I don't want to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but if you feel unsafe at home, I want you to know that you can come to me for help at any time."

Bucky stares at her, feeling slightly panicked and at a loss for words.

"Bucky?" Steve says, walking back into the kitchen and looking between them, clearly picking up on the tension in the air. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," Bucky says quickly. "Come help me wash?"

Steve doesn't look like he believes Bucky, but he walks over to the sink all the same, bumping their shoulders together before picking up a dishrag and scrubbing at a pot.

"You looked worried," Steve says a minute or so later. "What'd my mom say to you?"

Bucky glances over his shoulder, but Sarah's not in the room anymore.

"Nothing bad. It was just…more of what she said earlier. About me being welcome here."

"You _are_ welcome here," Steve says, faintly puzzled.

"I know! Please, can you just drop it?" Bucky feels frustrated almost to the point of tears and he turns away to hide his face from Steve, leaning on the countertop. He doesn't know how to explain to Steve that sometimes people being nice to him can be almost as upsetting as someone shouting at him, even though it's for different reasons. 

He tenses up when Steve wraps his arms around Bucky from the back, but relaxes as soon as he realizes what’s happening.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve says softly, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Bucky sighs. “I know,” he says. “It’s okay.”

Steve nuzzles at the soft skin behind Bucky’s ear. “I’m still sorry,” he says, and kisses Bucky’s neck.

God, Steve can be so fucking sweet sometimes. Impulsively, Bucky turns around in his arms and hugs him, hard. Steve makes a little noise of surprise but holds on to him tight.

“Do you still want to stay over tonight?” Steve asks. “My mom says it’s okay if you sleep in my room with me, but I can make up the couch if you’d be more comfortable there.”

“I want to stay in your room,” Bucky says without hesitation. “Your mom really won’t mind?”

“She really won’t.”

Bucky feels a bit shy, getting ready for bed with Steve. It’s not the first time he’s spent the night at Steve’s house, but it’ll be the first time he’s spent the night in Steve’s _bed_. He changes into his pajamas in the bathroom and brushes his teeth. When he gets back to Steve’s room, Steve’s already gotten changed. Bucky sits awkwardly on the edge of his bed while he waits for Steve to finish brushing his teeth.

“I, um, usually sleep up against the wall,” Steve says from the doorway. 

They get into bed together and Steve turns off the light and then they’re just lying there looking at each other in the dark. 

“Hey,” Steve says softly. His face is very close to Bucky’s. “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Kissing in the dark feels different than kissing during the day. It feels secretive and wild and Bucky tugs at Steve, wanting him closer, wanting more. Steve obligingly shuffles on top of Bucky without stopping kissing him. Two layers of thin pajama pants feels a hell of lot different than two layers of thick denim, and Bucky can feel the exact shape of Steve’s dick where it’s pressing into his thigh. He thinks he can feel it getting harder as they keep making out. Steve starts shifting against him, little nudges of his hips into Bucky’s.

“What, mmh, what do you want?” Steve asks between kisses. He rolls his hips down and Bucky imagines what it would be like if they were naked, if Steve were _fucking_ him, and he moans. He draws his knees up to cradle Steve’s hips between them. They could have sex just like this, with Bucky on his back, his legs wrapped around Steve’s back while Steve put his dick inside him.

“Tell me what you want,” Steve urges again.

“Just stay like this,” Bucky pants. “Pretend--pretend you’re fucking me.”

Steve freezes on top of him, lifting his head up, and they stare at each while Bucky flushes hot with embarrassment. Bucky’s on the verge of taking it back, of telling Steve it was a joke, when Steve swoops in and kisses him, hard. 

This time, Bucky doesn’t freak out after. Instead, he lets Steve hold him, the both of them sweaty and satisfied, and they exchange soft, sleepy kisses. 

“I think I’m going to need to borrow some boxers,” he says at last, becoming aware of the tacky mess in his pants.

Steve kisses him again instead of answering.

“For real,” Bucky insists. “It’s gross.”

“In a minute,” Steve says. “Just stay here a little longer. I like holding you.”

“Stevie, you can hold me all you like after I get changed. C’mon, lemme up, it’s just gonna take a minute.”

Steve pouts at him, which is both both ridiculous and adorable, and reluctantly untangles himself from Bucky. He sits up and immediately pulls a face and plucks at his pajama pants.

“Okay, you’re right, this is super gross.”

He pulls a couple pairs of boxers out of a drawer and tosses one to Bucky. They take turns cleaning up in the bathroom. Bucky wonders if he ought to feel silly for being so shy when he and Steve just got off together. But he’d been fully clothed both times today; he’s just not quite ready for Steve to see him undressed. Maybe it’s a little selfish of him; after all, Steve had been more than willing to let Bucky look at him. But Steve hasn’t complained or anything. He’s actually seemed more than happy to go along with whatever Bucky wanted.

Steve is already in bed when Bucky comes back. He looks half-asleep, but he’s awake enough that when Bucky climbs into bed next to him, he drapes himself along Bucky’s back and slides his arms around him, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck. It feels _so_ nice.

*

Being Steve’s boyfriend makes the world seem a brighter place. Like the bad things are less bad just because Steve wants to hold his hand. He’s almost relentlessly cheerful. Even his dad’s sour moods don’t bring him down like they used to. His dad seems to take personal offense to this, like if he’s not happy, no one should be. For weeks he picks at Bucky for every little perceived fault--the way he’s dressed, his hair, how he chooses to spend his free time--and Bucky puts up with it, silently willing his dad to hurry up and finish insulting him so he can go up to his room and daydream about Steve. He and Steve can’t really communicate a lot outside of school; Bucky’s dad pays for his phone plan and therefore has access to the account and Bucky doesn’t want to risk getting caught. They text, sometimes, but they’re careful not to say anything incriminating.

It’s been a while since his dad’s last blowout. Bucky knows another one’s probably coming soon but for once in his life he’s trying to be optimistic. He’s doing better in his classes, he actually has friends now, and apart from feeling like he’s walking on tenterhooks every minute he spends at home, life’s actually not terrible. Sometimes the anxiety he feels at home carries over to school, but Steve’s gotten really good at helping him calm down. Mostly by finding a place where they can be alone and letting Bucky cling to him, but hey, it works. 

Of course sometimes Bucky has no choice but to deal with it on his own, and sometimes he still ends up with reddish indents on the underside of his arm from where he was digging his nails in so hard that it hurt, hard enough to hold himself together. He tries not to let Steve see but Steve usually notices anyway, frowns at Bucky and looks at him with unhappy eyes and strokes over the marks like he wishes he could make them disappear. 

It’s not that Bucky _wants_ to hurt himself, exactly--it’s just that it’s the only other way he knows to stop his anxiety from spiraling out of control. He tries to tell Steve as much but he’s not sure Steve understands. At the very least, he wrangles a promise out of Steve that he won’t tell anyone about it. Steve isn’t happy but in return he makes Bucky promise that if he _ever_ feels like hurting himself in a more lasting way, he’ll tell Steve immediately.

Bucky’s just starting to think that maybe he’ll survive the next year after all.

He should have known better.

In late March he gets a fever. He wakes up feeling sluggish and achy, wobbles into the bathroom and has to prop himself up against the counter to stay upright. His mom will already have left for work by now, so he goes downstairs in search of his dad, and finds him in the kitchen. 

His dad takes one look at him still in pajamas and snaps at him to go back upstairs and get ready for school.

“Dad, wait,” Bucky says. “I’m not dressed because I’m sick. I have a fever and I feel awful. Please can you call me in sick to school?.”

“Well, _I’m_ sick of you being so goddamn lazy!” his dad shouts, like he hasn’t actually heard anything Bucky’s said at all. “I’m not letting you fake being ill so you can lounge around at home all day. Go upstairs and get dressed!”

“Dad, no, I really am sick,” Bucky protests. 

“I said, _go upstairs and get dressed_ ,” his dad grinds out. 

Bucky, accepting defeat, turns to go, but he’s not quick enough for his dad, who strides over and shoves him out of the kitchen. Bucky’s reflexes are crap since he’s sick and he stumbles and falls heavily into the dining room table. The impact on his ribs momentarily knocks the wind out of him and he wheezes painfully for breath. His ribs ache fiercely when he staggers to his feet. His dad’s already turned back around, refusing to acknowledge him. 

Getting dressed is a pain and a half. His ribs hurt every time he takes a breath and his head is so muzzy that everything takes twice as long as normal. He doesn’t see his dad anywhere when he finally makes it down the stairs and out the front door to walk to the bus stop.

He must look as terrible as he feels because Steve starts freaking out the second he sees him.

“Bucky, oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks. He’s sitting on one of the out-of-the-way benches they usually hang out at before class, leaning back against the wall. “Just a fever.”

Steve feels Bucky’s forehead with the back of his hand. Bucky would make fun of him for acting like someone’s mom if he didn’t feel so shitty.

“Buck, you’re burning up. I don’t think you should be at school.”

Bucky shrugs. “My dad wouldn’t let me stay home. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You really don’t look good. Will you at least let me take you to the nurse?”

“Can’t,” Bucky says. “She’ll just call my dad and tell him to come pick me up. He’ll be angry.” He coughs and fuck, fuck, it _hurts_. Breathing hurts. Everything hurts. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of quick shallow breaths.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks frantically. 

“‘S just my ribs,” Bucky assures him, forgetting that Steve doesn’t know about his ribs. “Hurts.”

“Your ribs? Bucky, what--”

Bucky feels Steve’s hands on the hem of his shirt.

“No,” he tries to insist, pushing at Steve’s hands. Steve pauses, because he’s Steve, but he doesn’t let go of Bucky’s shirt. 

“You need to let me see,” Steve says. “Bucky, please, you’re scaring me.”

His head’s swimming. It’s easier to give up than to keep arguing with Steve. He lets go of Steve’s hands. Steve gently slides his shirt up and gasps.

“Oh my god,” Steve says. “Bucky, what the hell happened? This looks really bad. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office, c’mon.”

Steve tries to help him up, but Bucky winds his fingers into the plastic grid of the bench and refuses to let go. Going to the nurse means a call home. It’s not fucking worth it.

“I _told_ you,” he says. “My dad.”

Steve goes pale with realization. “Your dad did this to you.” He’s staring at Bucky, his eyes wide and shocked. “God, Buck, this is _abuse_. Okay, fuck, you’re too sick to be at school and your ribs are definitely bruised and maybe cracked or something. I’m taking you back to my house and don’t argue with me about it.”

“He’ll be mad if I skip class.”

“I won’t let him hurt you, Buck. You’re not going back to that house.”

“Don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Yes, you do. Now come _on_ , if we leave before the first bell no one will notice.”

Steve stands up and looks at Bucky expectantly. 

“This is a shitty fucking idea,” Bucky informs him, but he hauls himself to his feet, because it’s Steve, and Bucky has an unfortunate tendency to follow Steve wherever he goes, no matter what harebrained idea he’s come up with this time.

Bucky falls asleep in the car on the way to Steve’s house, despite his ribs aching every time they hit a bump. When he wakes up, the car is already parked and Steve’s leaning in the passenger door and saying Bucky’s name. 

“Just a little longer and then you can rest,” Steve coaxes. 

“Yeah yeah,” Bucky mumbles. “I’m fine, stop mothering me.”

Bucky feels suddenly lightheaded as he climbs out of the car and he grabs Steve’s arms to help keep his balance.

“Buck?” Steve says. He sounds frightened.

“‘M okay. Just a little dizzy. Probably stood up too fast.” He carefully lets go of Steve, relieved when he doesn’t wobble. “See? I’m okay.”

Once inside, Steve hovers anxiously behind Bucky while he slowly makes his way up the stairs. Steve insists that he get in bed, and he props Bucky up with like half a dozen pillows so he can sit up comfortably. 

“Don’t you dare move, I’ll be right back,” Steve says. 

“I don’t need a nanny, Rogers!” Bucky complains, but it’s too late, Steve’s already gone downstairs and Bucky can hear him rattling around, getting things out of various cupboards. He comes back with a bottle of water and an armful of medications.

“This will help with your fever,” Steve says, popping the lid on a bottle and shaking out a pill. Bucky takes it and the water bottle Steve hands to him and swallows it down. “You should try to keep drinking water, you’re probably dehydrated, and--”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts him off. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Yeah, Buck?” Bucky doesn’t think he’s imagining that Steve’s voice is a little wobbly.

“I’m gonna be okay,” Bucky says, as firmly as he can manage. “Stop panicking, yeah?”

“I don’t know how you expect me not to panic when you look like death warmed over,” Steve grumbles. He sits on the edge of the bed next to Bucky. “So, while I was downstairs I called my mom--”

“You _what_?” Bucky interjects.

“I called my mom,” Steve continues, “she can’t get off work any earlier, but she’ll be home at four. She says you should just rest and try to eat something, and when she comes home we can talk about what to do next.”

Abruptly, Bucky starts to cry. It surprises him just as much as it surprises Steve. One second he was sitting there irate at Steve for spilling the beans to his mom, the next there are tears dripping silently down his face. It’s fucking annoying, is what it is.

“Bucky, no, what’d I say? What’s wrong?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not you.” He wipes at his face. The tears don’t seem to want to stop coming. “‘M just tired.” It’s not even 9 a.m. yet and it already feels like the longest day of his life. His head’s all muzzy and he can’t think straight.

“You want to lie down for a while?”

Bucky nods, and Steve helps him lie down without putting too much strain on his ribs. 

“Don’t go,” he says when it looks like Steve is getting up. “Steve. Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. He settles back against the headboard of his bed and reaches down to pet at Bucky’s hair. It feels good. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

Bucky sleeps for most of the day. Steve wakes him up every so often to make him drink water and check on how he’s feeling, and once to pester him into eating some chicken noodle soup from a can that Steve warmed up on the stove. Bucky’s not feeling very hungry, but he gives it his best shot so Steve will stop fretting over him. He alternates between feeling blazingly hot and achingly cold, and Steve is constantly having to help Bucky rearrange the blankets to his liking after he’s kicked them off the bed yet again. Time seems to pass in a lopsided, irregular sort of way and Bucky falls asleep yet again and dreams that Steve’s bed is in the center of the room and a dozen identical Steves have circled around him, all of them holding out bowls of chicken noodle soup. 

“Bucky. _Bucky_ ,” the Steves are saying, and then Bucky wakes up and there’s just one Steve looking down at him, gently touching his shoulder and repeating his name. 

“You were making noises in your sleep. Bad dream?”

“Mmph,” Bucky mumbles noncommittally. “No. Jus’ weird.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Do you need me to get you anything? How about a snack?”

“Not hungry.”

Steve sighs. “You didn’t eat very much for lunch.”

“What time ‘s it?

“Almost three.”

School’s already out. In another couple of hours, Bucky’s parents will come home, expecting to find him there. What is he going to tell them? What is he gonna _do_? Steve’s mom is great, but there’s no way she’s actually going to be okay with Bucky living here. That’s not what people do, they don’t just take in their son’s boyfriend just because he has shitty parents. Kids are expensive, as Bucky’s dad is fond of reminding him.

“Maybe you should just take me home,” Bucky says.

Steve snaps to attention. “What are you talking about?” 

Bucky pushes himself up to a sitting position. It hurts.

“It’d be easier for everyone. You can just drop me off and--”

“That is _not_ going to happen,” Steve says. “Bucky, your dad hurt you. I’m not taking you back there.”

“It’s not like he punched me or anything,” Bucky argues weakly. “He just shoved me ‘cause I was arguing with him, and then I fell into the table. I would’ve caught myself if it wasn’t for this dumb fever making me all wobbly.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Steve says, aghast. “Abusing a sick kid? No. I’m not doing it.”

If Steve won’t drive him home, then he’s stuck here. He’s not stupid enough to think he can walk home when he’s this sick. He’s gonna be in so much trouble if he’s not home for dinner and if Steve would just take him home, everything would be so much better. Panic and fear make his stomach clench up and he clumsily lays back down and curls onto his side, turning his back to Steve. If Steve won’t help him, Bucky doesn’t want to talk to him.

“Bucky?” Steve says. “Buck, please talk to me, I don’t understand.”

“Go _away_ ,” Bucky spits out. He should never have agreed to come home with Steve in the first place. “Just leave me alone.”

There’s a pause, and then Steve says “I’ll be across the hall if you need me,” and leaves the room.

Somehow Bucky must manage to fall back asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes he can hear Steve and his mom talking in the hallway.

“He asked me to take him home,” Steve says. He sounds upset. “Mom, I don’t think this is the first time his dad’s hurt him. We can’t let him go back there.”

“I know, honey. Let me go talk to him, okay?” 

Steve’s bedroom door creaks when his mom opens it.

“Bucky, sweetheart, are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks. His mouth’s dry, ugh. He hauls himself upright. “Hi, Mrs. Rogers.”

“You know I’ve told you to call me Sarah,” she gently scolds him. “How are you feeling? Steve tells me you have a fever.” She rests the back of his hand on Bucky’s forehead. “Yes, you’re definitely warm. Have you been staying hydrated?” 

“Steve made me drink water.”

“He can be a pest sometimes, can’t he?” Sarah says, clearly picking up on the surly note in Bucky’s voice. “Now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to see how your ribs are doing.”

Bucky chews nervously on his bottom lip. He hadn’t even wanted to show Steve, and Steve’s his boyfriend.

“I can ask Steve to come in if that would make you more comfortable,” Sarah offers.

Bucky nods.

Sarah hasn’t even gotten Steve’s name all the way out before Steve is pushing into the room. 

“Is he okay?” 

“He’s going to be just fine,” Sarah says reassuringly. “We thought he might feel better if you were in the room while I took a look at his ribs.”

Bucky lies down flat and Steve sits next to him on the edge of the bed. Sarah carefully lifts his shirt up. Bucky wilts miserably, feeling exposed. He fumbles around until he finds Steve’s hand. He’s not sure if Steve’s mad at him for earlier, so he’s not brave enough to outright slip his hand into Steve’s, but he nudges the back of his hand into the back of Steve’s. Steve looks down at him in surprise, then down at their hands, and finally he picks up Bucky’s hand and covers it with both of his.

“This might be a little painful, but I promise I’ll be gentle,” Sarah says. “I’m going to check your ribs to make sure they aren’t broken, and in order to do that I’ll have to press down lightly on them.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, since she seems to be waiting for an answer. He clings to Steve’s hand while Sarah examines him. She’s gentle, but it does hurt.

“Okay, you’re in the clear,” she says finally. Bucky tugs his shirt back down and sits up. “Just bruised. Still painful, but they’ll take a lot less time to heal than if they were broken.” She hesitates. “Bucky, honey, you don’t have to make a decision right away, but it might be a good idea if you let us photograph your bruises.”

“Like...for evidence against my dad?” 

“Yes. Just as a precaution.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says uneasily. 

“All right. Just give it some thought. No matter what, you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you want. We’ve got a spare bedroom and heavens knows Steve and I could use some company, rattling around in this house.”

“You really...you would really let me stay here?”

“Yes, of course. For as long as you like.”

“What about my parents? They’re gonna wonder where I am.”

“I’ll call them and let them know you’re spending the night, so they’re not worried about where you are. Tomorrow, if you want to stay here, we can have a talk with them.”

“I’m not allowed to have sleepovers during the week.” It’s making him nervous to voice so many objections, but Sarah doesn’t seem to be upset with him, even though he must be getting annoying.

“Leave it to me to handle your parents for tonight, okay, sweetie? You’re sick, you just need to focus on getting better.”

After Bucky agrees to let her call his parents, she asks if he’d like Steve to go pick up some of his things. Clothes, toothbrush, anything he might need.

Bucky doesn’t have a lot of possessions, but one of Steve’s hoodies is at his house, that soft navy blue one that Bucky cried on so many months ago, and so is the little brown bear Steve won for him at an arcade. If he really is going to stay here, he needs them.

“I’ll go right now if you want,” Steve offers.

“I’ll give you two a couple minutes to talk it over,” Sarah says, when Bucky hesitates, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

Bucky looks at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Yeah, Buck, I do. I’m sorry I didn’t realize before how awful your dad is. I knew he was a piece of shit but I had no idea it was this bad. I’m so sorry.” Steve has this immensely guilty look on his face, like he thinks he’s personally failed Bucky.

“It’s not your fault, you dummy.”

Steve shrugs. “So. You wanna move in?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky hedges. “What if you and your mom get tired of having me around all the time? What if my dad tries to make me come back? I’m only seventeen, he could get me declared a runaway.” Bucky’s done his research, he knows he has to be eighteen before his parents lose all hold on him.

“We won’t let him. We’ll get you emancipated if we have to.”

Bucky sighs and leans over to press his face against Steve’s shoulder. Steve hugs him. 

“Okay,” he says at last. “Yeah. My dad’s going to be home at six, so you gotta go now so you don’t run into him. My house keys are in my backpack. If you check my closet, there should be a duffle bag in there that you can use. And um, make sure you get my bear, okay? He should be somewhere in my bed, you might have to hunt around a bit for him.”

“You sleep with the bear I gave you?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Steve protests. He grins. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute? I’m not _cute_.”

“You are the very cutest,” Steve says, and kisses him on the cheek with an obnoxious kissy noise.

“Ugh, you suck,” Bucky complains. He shoves Steve in the shoulder, which does absolutely nothing to diminish how pleased with himself Steve looks. 

Half an hour later, Steve comes back with a duffle bag full of clothes and textbooks and Bucky’s bear in one hand. 

“Found him!” Steve announces, dropping the duffle bag on the floor and holding out the bear. Bucky takes him and gives him a pat, smooths his fur down. It might be silly to be this attached to a stuffed animal, but he’s slept with his bear every night since Steve gave him to him.

“Thanks,” he says, setting the bear next to him. 

That night, Bucky wakes up tangled in his sheets and drenched in sweat. It’s disgusting, but he also feels much better. His fever must’ve broken. He goes into the bathroom and splashes some water over his face. He’d really like to take a shower, but it’s late and he doesn’t want to wake Steve or his mom up. He settles for changing into a fresh pair of boxers and t-shirt and fluffing the sheets on his bed back into order.

Bucky’s not sure what Steve’s mom tells their school, but they both stay home again the next day, “to settle in,” she says. Bucky’s worried about missing so much school but even though he’s not running a fever anymore, he’s still tired and his ribs hurt when he moves around too much. He tries to protest Steve staying home--Bucky will be fine on his own, there’s no need for Steve to miss school too--but he’s outvoted. They spend most of the morning on the couch watching TV. After lunch, Bucky gets on Steve’s computer and writes a difficult email to Natasha. She’s probably going to kill him for not telling her how bad things have been with his dad. (But in a loving way. Nat can be prickly and sharp-edged sometimes, but Bucky’s never doubted their friendship.)

In the afternoon, Bucky pesters Steve into working on their math homework with him. Steve usually grumps about being made to do math, but today he’s oddly biddable and puts his sketchbook away almost as soon as Bucky asks. In fact, he’s being kind of weird in general. He hasn’t touched Bucky all day. No arm around Bucky’s shoulder, no footsie under the table, no kissing. He sets down his pencil, halfway through a problem.

“Steve,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t kissed me all day,” Bucky points out. “Do you not...do you not want to anymore?” Maybe Steve’s lost interest. Maybe he thinks Bucky’s too complicated. Maybe he’s changed his mind about the whole live-in boyfriend thing.. 

“What? Bucky, no, that’s not it at all. I just thought maybe you’d want some space, with everything that’s going on right now.”

“What I _want_ ,” Bucky says emphatically, “is for you to kiss me.”

Math homework gets forgotten in favor of making out on the couch, Steve kissing him slow and sweet and pressing him back into the cushions.

*

Bucky doesn’t get emancipated. Instead, Steve’s mom somehow gets Bucky’s parents to just agree to let him live with Steve. She arranges a meeting with the school principal and Bucky’s mom comes in and signs a piece of paper saying that Sarah Rogers is Bucky’s new emergency contact and she has permission to sign him out of school, call him in sick, and so on. His mom barely even looks at him the whole time they’re there, like she’s already forgotten about him. It’s awful, and Bucky just wants to go home and crawl into Steve’s bed by the time they’re done. But Sarah asks if Bucky would like to go out to lunch, so he says yes and they go and get burgers and fries and milkshakes

Sarah seems to be checking her phone a lot more than usual during lunch, and it makes Bucky nervous to the point where he finally blurts out, “Is something wrong? Is Steve okay?”

“Steve’s fine,” Sarah reassures him. She puts her phone away in her purse and smiles at him. “Are you done with your burger?”

Something is definitely up, but Bucky has no idea what. He’s suspicious all the way home, and his suspicions are confirmed when they pull up to the house and there’s a strange car in the driveway. He looks over at Sarah and starts to ask what’s going on, only to trail off in shock when when the driver’s door swings open and Becca steps out.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my _god_ ,” and then he’s scrambling to undo his seatbelt and nearly tripping over himself on his way out of the car, launching himself at Becca. She catches him in a hug and he fists his hands in her jacket and holds on tight. His ribs still have some lingering soreness and they ache at the rough treatment, but he doesn’t let go.

“I really missed you,” she says into his hair.

“Me too,” he says shakily, overwhelmed. He blinks hard, fighting back tears, and pulls away to get a good look at her. She’s got her hair cut short now, but otherwise she looks just like he remembered.

“God, look at you,” Becca’s saying. “You’ve grown up so much, baby brother.” She looks over Bucky’s shoulder at Sarah, who’s come up behind them. “Thank you for taking care of him, he’s kind of a dumbass sometimes but I love him anyway.”

“You’re very welcome,” Sarah says. “How about we go inside and give you two a chance to catch up before Steve comes home?”

“I can’t wait to meet my little brother’s boyfriend,” Becca says, grinning, and Bucky resigns himself to endless teasing.

“How long are you staying?” he asks as they walk up the steps to the house.

“Just the weekend. End of the semester, exams coming up, I really can’t afford to miss class,” she says apologetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Your boyfriend insisted that it had to be a surprise. I think he wanted to cheer you up in case your meeting with mom and the principal didn’t go well.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Yeah, good call.”

Sarah sets them up in the living room and leaves them be, ostensibly to do some much-needed chores, but Bucky knows it’s really just an excuse to give them some time alone together. They swap stories about school and he tells her about the way their mom acted towards him this morning and Becca is appropriately pissed off and sympathetic. 

Then Steve comes home, banging through the door in his hurry to get inside, and Bucky introduces him to Becca, and tries not to blush when Steve holds his hand and Becca wiggles an eyebrow at him suggestively.

Becca and Steve get along like a house on fire, and by the time the weekend’s over and she’s ready to head back to school, she’s already complimented Bucky at least twice on his choice of boyfriends, despite Bucky’s protests that _Steve_ was the one who asked _him_ out. She bonds with Steve over their mutual love of art and hatred of math, poking fun of Bucky for being a math nerd. Since she’s sleeping in the spare room, Bucky has an excuse to bunk up with Steve, which he usually does anyway. He sleeps better with Steve right there next to him, taking up more than his fair share of space and with at least one or more limbs draped over Bucky. 

It’s an amazing weekend, and Bucky finds it hard when it comes time for Becca to leave. He keeps it together until they’ve waved their goodbyes while she drives away. Then he goes back inside. It almost feels like Becca’s left him all over again, and he drifts aimlessly around the house until Steve drags him over to the couch, sits him down, and puts a movie on. Steve plops a pillow in his lap and pats it invitingly. Curling up on the couch with his head in Steve’s lap and Steve’s hand playing with his hair doesn’t make everything better, but it definitely helps.

PART THREE

It’s July 4th and Steve’s seventeenth birthday. Sarah makes waffles with whipped cream, strawberries, and blueberries on top for breakfast (“It’s patriotic!” Bucky says gleefully) and in the evening, after an amazing homemade dinner with peach cobbler for dessert, they all go to see the fireworks together.

Later, in the privacy of Steve’s bedroom, Bucky hands over his present.

“It’s not much,” he warns Steve, but when Steve sees the mix CD Bucky made him and the sappy note Bucky wrote in the card, he drops them both on the bed and kisses Bucky square on the lips.

“I love it,” Steve announces, and kisses him again. One kiss turns into a series of kisses turns into them making out and grinding against each other on Steve’s bed.

“Mmm, Steve--” Bucky says after a while, pulling back. He’s on top, so he just sort of props himself up on Steve’s chest. “Um, there is one other thing I wanted to give you for your birthday...”

“Just spit it out, Buck,” Steve says, when Bucky hesitates.

Bucky can feel himself flush absolutely bright red. “I really want to give you a blowjob,” he blurts out. They’ve done handjobs and they’ve been naked with each other and Bucky’s recently gotten comfortable enough to let Steve blow him, but he hadn’t yet worked up the courage to get his mouth on Steve’s dick. 

Steve’s eyes are wide.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He reaches down and palms Steve’s crotch. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”

Bucky _does_ really want to do this, but he’s still nervous, to be honest.

“Can you, like, tell me what to do?” he asks, rubbing Steve through his shorts. He’s already hard. “Give me directions and stuff?”

Steve blinks at him. “You want me to give you instructions on how to suck my dick?”

“Well...yeah,” Bucky says hesitantly. “So I don’t have to worry about whether I’m doing it right.” 

It’s dumb, but three months of living here and Bucky still can’t quite shake the feeling that he has do everything just right, that if he messes up they might decide they don’t want him here after all. He knows it’s not true and Steve and his mom have reassured him countless times that’s he’s welcome here, no matter what, even if he and Steve break up, but it’s a hard habit to shake. Just for once he’d like to stop thinking for a while and just do what Steve tells him.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Steve says. “Just, you’ll tell me if you don’t like what I tell you to do, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So,” Steve begins, smiling. “First step to a successful blowjob: take off my shorts.”

Steve props himself up on his elbows and watches while Bucky undoes the button of Steve’s fly and drags down his zip. He raises his hips to help Bucky tug his shorts down. Steve likes to wear snug underwear and the bulge of his erection is clearly visible.

“Good, okay. Don’t take off my boxers yet. Touch me through them. Use your mouth if you want.”

Bucky leans down to rub his cheek over Steve’s dick. When Steve seems to like that, he gets bolder, mouthing at him through his underwear, trying to fit as much of Steve as he can in his mouth through the cotton. 

“That feels really good,” Steve says encouragingly, shifting his hips under Bucky’s hands. 

“I bet it’s gonna feel better when I put it in my mouth,” Bucky says without thinking, and Steve makes a sort of whimpering groan. It’s kind of amazing. He wants to see what other noises he can get out of Steve.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, tugging at Steve’s boxers. 

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Steve’s dick, as usual, is a fucking work of art. By now he’s seen a lot of dicks on tumblr, okay, and he still thinks Steve’s is the prettiest. When he gets hard it curves slightly to the left, standing up invitingly from Steve’s neatly trimmed patch of dark blonde pubic hair. He’s tried to get Steve to draw it for him before but Steve just laughs at him and says that if he’s going to draw dicks, he’d rather draw Bucky’s.

“Okay, so when you’re ready, you can hold me at the base with one hand, like this--” Steve demonstrates, “--and that’ll give you more control.”

They’ve both been tested, thanks to Steve’s mom (it wasn’t like Bucky had ever been with anyone besides Steve but he was adamant that if Steve was getting tested, so was he) and they’d mutually agreed not to use condoms for blowjobs. Bucky wraps one hand around the base of Steve’s dick to hold him in place, like he said, and carefully leans in and closes his mouth around the head. It feels weirdly spongy in his mouth. He licks at it experimentally. It doesn’t taste bad. He takes it in a little farther, licking at the shaft, but he’s not used to sucking cock and he doesn’t get very far down before he has to pull back, sputtering. 

“Sorry if I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re doing great,” Steve says, slightly strained. “Just go slow. Play with my balls with your other hand, I like that.” 

Bucky’s never really paid much attention to Steve’s balls before. He doesn’t usually have his face this close to Steve’s crotch. His own balls don’t do much for him, except get in the way sometimes when he’s trying to sit down.

Steve’s balls make a nice handful. He rolls them around in his left hand while he feeds Steve’s dick back into his mouth with his right. It’s not as scary as Bucky thought it would be, lying here between Steve’s thighs. He doesn’t know why he was so worked up about it; he actually really likes having his mouth full of dick. He likes the warmth and weight of it on his tongue, he likes the breathy little noises Steve makes and he especially likes how intimate this feels. He’s got his mouth on one of Steve’s most private and vulnerable places and Steve trusts him with it.

He’s kind of drooling on Steve’s dick; it’s hard to swallow with his mouth occupied. It’s making everything nice and slippery so he supposes it’s probably not bad. He fits as much of Steve in his mouth as he can and sucks enthusiastically. 

“Jesus,” Steve swears. “That’s good, that’s really good. Remember to use your tongue.”

Bucky uses his tongue and promptly chokes when Steve thrusts his hips up. He gags and rears back.

“Shit, sorry, I’m so sorry.” Steve hastily sits up, reaching out for Bucky. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bucky says, batting his hands away. His voice sounds a little rusty; he coughs. “I wanna do it some more. Just try not to choke me with your huge dick this time.”

“Okay,” Steve says, settling back down. “I really am sorry though.”

This time, Bucky leans his weight on Steve’s hips to help prevent any more accidental choking incidents. He licks and sucks and slurps and bobs his head until Steve is writhing under him, moaning out Bucky’s name. When the tone of his voice changes, becoming more urgent, Bucky knows that means Steve’s close. He starts to pull back, planning to jerk Steve off the rest of the way, but Steve starts coming just as he slips out of Bucky’s mouth, painting thick strips across Bucky’s lips and chin. 

For a moment Steve just stares at him wide-eyed, breathing heavily, and then he makes an odd sort of yelping noise.

“Oh my god, I came on your _face_ ,” he says and grabs for his t-shirt, lying discarded next them. He starts carefully wiping Bucky’s face clean. It’s kind of weird to have Steve touching his face like this--Bucky could just as easily clean himself up--but he holds still while Steve works. It feels good to have someone take care of him.

“Okay,” Steve says finally, dropping the shirt on the bed. One hand is still on Bucky’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his skin, his expression so tender it makes Bucky squirm. “All clean.”

Their faces are still so close together. Bucky licks his lips, tasting salt, and watches as Steve’s gaze drops to his mouth. Steve wants to kiss him, even after Bucky’s had his mouth full of dick. A sudden wave of happiness washes over him and he smiles so brightly that Steve can’t help but grin back at him, laughing at Bucky, and when they kiss their noses bump and their teeth clash but it’s so, so good.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at islenskur.tumblr.com


End file.
